


The Prime

by ausmac



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-23 22:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21327784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: In a warcraft universe where there are rare individuals called Alpha and Omega, Varian Wrynn tries to cope with being something a King should never be, at a time when it seems only death awaits him.Redraft - see story note.
Relationships: Garrosh Hellscream/Varian Wrynn
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30





	The Prime

**Author's Note:**

> I started posting this a couple of years ago and I became unhappy with where the story was going. But the concept was one I really liked so I've edited it back to where the story started diverging and I'm writing new chapters. I can't guarantee they will be frequent or how large they will be, but I'll keep plugging away at it.

“The suppressants have stopped working.”

Varian’s controlled, even tone of voice gave nothing away – not the ever-present pain, not the steadily growing anguish, not even the fate that lay ahead of him. He barely blinked and it was only the way his hands clenched on the back of the chair that showed his strained control.

The mage sighed. “Sire, I am sorry. I did warn you that it was only a matter of time. You have been on them for a very long time. Eventually your body would …”

“Yes. I understand that. So I ask the same question I have asked each time – is there no other option, nothing you have managed to research that can help me?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Each time we have used a different recipe your body has adapted to it, eventually becoming immune to its effects. We are, after all, circumventing a natural process. I am sorry,” she said again, “I have exhausted all the possible variations. I wish I could do more…”

“So do I.” He knew she really was sorry. She’d told him often enough and although he wanted to rage at her, throw things at her, hurt her for failing him, he recognised that it was his angry, pained emotions talking. She was a powerful mage but fallible and working miracles wasn’t something she could do, even for him.

He sent her away and sat staring out through the window of his chambers, his gaze unfocused. Already the first flush of Heat was stirring. When it was released from its chemical bonds it would explode through him and there was only one thing that could give him any ease, that could save him from unending pain. 

_I have to find an Alpha. A Prime Alpha. _He snorted, wiping a hand over his face, cleaning the sweat from his tired eyes. He was a Prime Frutal Omega and only a Prime Alpha could service his Heat. In all his years of searching, he had never found one. Simple Alphas weren’t sufficient, they didn't have the necessary power to overcome his Heat. He’d never found that one Prime Alpha he needed. Only the mages and their elixirs had kept him alive. But time, the one enemy he couldn’t defeat, had won out.

_If I must die_, he thought, as he climbed to his feet and called for his squire, _then I will die in battle against the Horde. An honourable, clean death._

The only male Prime Omega alive went in search of his death, and unintentionally found life instead.

The forests of Ashenvale echoed to the sounds of conflict. Weapons clashed, magic exploded, voices screamed and shouted and there was the tang of spilled blood in the air. 

Garrosh Hellscream’s nostrils twitched, his eyes narrowing in the broken light filtering through the trees. It was difficult to tell in the dense undergrowth where the main fights were taking place. Night Elves moved in and out of the strands of trees, arrows flying from their bows, their high voices screaming curses. Heart thudding with the joy of battle, he crouched down, looking for a target. His own Kor’kron were off somewhere involved in their own fighting; it didn’t worry him. A Prime’s arrogance reinforced his own personal sense of invulnerability and swamped any unease he might feel at being alone in the forest. He’d never met anything that he couldn’t defeat. He rarely met anything that even gave him a worthwhile fight.

He turned to head back towards his command post when a sense of warmth swirled across his skin. It was tantalizing, magnetic and he knew immediately what it was, for all its rarity.

Somewhere out there was an Omega in Heat. And as he paused, Alpha senses attuned, he realised it was a very powerful Heat trace. This was no normal Omega. It was..

_A Prime. Sweet Elements, a Prime._

In all his years he had never been with a Prime, never even met one. They were rarer than the rarest treasure. He’d been with many Omegas but until that moment he’d never sensed a true Prime. He turned towards it, pushing his way through the bushes, unconcerned at the noise he made as he broke small trees apart and slashed through the heavy growth with Gorehowl’s blade. Closer, he was very close now and she….

No, not _she. He…_ was suddenly right there.

Surprise froze him in place, the big axe raised but held steady by instinct. The shock of realising who the Prime was almost cost him his life, as King Varian Wrynn leapt at him, snarling. The big sword swept in an arc towards Garrosh’s throat and he unfroze with a grunt, jabbing his axe up to intercept a strike that would have separated his head from his neck. And in that moment, as his eyes locked on the man’s crazed blue eyes, he knew that the King understood what he was. It seemed to send him mad.

Under normal conditions, fighting Varian Wrynn would have been difficult enough; he was a fearsomely good fighter. Enraged, boiling under the pain and pressure of a denied Heat, he went berserker. Parrying blows that would have gutted him through and through, Garrosh felt a first tinge of fear. _Killing him – not so easy. Capturing him – how….???_

It was a small thing that eventually saved him, and gave him what he wanted. Varian swung Shalamayne into a backstroke and misjudged his positioning – the blade buried itself in a treetrunk behind him. That momentary lapse was all Garrosh needed – as the human howled in fury and fought to pull the blade free, the Warchief dropped his axe and charged, butting the King in the chest with his head. Both of them flew backwards into the tree bearing the King’s buried sword. The force of the strike threw Varian’s head against the trunk and the fight was over as Garrosh fell with the unconscious man sagging against him. 

Gasping for breath, bleeding from multiple wounds, Garrosh held the still body against himself and waited for his heart to slow. In one amazing moment he had taken the Alliance warchief prisoner – an unexpected, potentially tremendous benefit for himself and the Horde. As for the rest, for what the man was, not only who he was – that would require some thought.

He was accustomed to waking to pain. Over a lifetime of it, he’d learned to look upon it as a positive: at least he was waking. The pain this time was in his head, physical soreness at the back and a grinding headache inside. 

Varian opened his eyes and squinted as the headache redoubled its efforts to make him vomit. He swallowed, forcing the nausea away, taking in deep, careful breaths to calm himself. While doing that he searched his memory for whatever it was that had earned him the pain. 

_A fight. I was fighting. In a forest. Ashenvale, yes. And I was fighting…_ It took a few moments to piece his memories together and when he did his eyes flashed open and he tried to sit up. Only to be jerked backwards by pressure on his arms and legs that held him in place. He raised a hand – or tried to; manacles of some sort were wrapped around his wrist and upper arm. They were braced leather, with soft padding under them against his skin, and he heard the ring of chains attached to them. Teeth gritted against the pain, eyes narrowed in anger, Varian jerked his arms upwards against the restraint. Other than earning himself discomfit from the sudden pressure on his arm and wrist, it did nothing to loosen the chains. He tried to twist, to get more leverage or grab the chains in his hands but the way he was restrained made that impossible.

At any other time Varian would have rested himself, waited for an opportunity when the chains were loosened, considered other options, but the pain, injury and climbing pressure of the Heat overrode sense and logic. He fought the bonds, snarling, kicking and surging against them, growing more enraged and frantic which each passing moment. There was a loud ringing sound in his ears, his vision turned red, he sensed another berserker rage building and knew that, bound as he was, it was likely to cause him severe injury, but he couldn’t seem to back off, to slow it…

And then a sensation cut through the ringing. There were no words but it was as if something was taking command of his body, ruling it, enveloping him in a wash of cooling strength. The rage faded, his eyes began to clear as his body, soaked in sweat, sank back down into an exhausted slump. Weary, stretched and pained, he looked up into the amber eyes of Garrosh Hellscream.

He realised eventually that one of the orc’s big hands was resting on his chest above his heart, holding him in place. That would have been enough in the past to stir his anger again but the Alpha’s enormous power radiated from the flesh touching him, from the fingers gently pressing and sliding over his damp skin. He watched them move, mesmerized for a time until he’d found calm even without knowing he was seeking it. 

And then Garrosh smiled, a crooked, knowing and very satisfied smile and Varian snarled, anger reigniting. He spat, furious, and Garrosh’s eyes narrowed.

“Your manners are as bad as I’d expect from a human. But I’ve tamed wolves before. You will learn who your master is.”

Somehow he dragged up power beyond what even Varian knew he had, and with one sudden huge surge he snapped his right arm free of the chains. He launched his fist as Garrosh’s head only to have it slammed backwards to the surface he lay on. Varian felt and heard bones break and his sight faded in and out from the shock and pain. The world muted into fog, and he struggled to breathe, chest heaving. When he could see and hear once more he was being restrained again and knew he wouldn’t be forcing that same arm against the binding again anytime soon. It throbbed at each movement as new manacles and chains we put in place. 

He lay panting, sweat running into his eyes, body flushed and hot from the exertion and the growing power of his Heat. Even then, he bared his teeth as Garrosh ran a hand beneath the short pants that were his only clothing. The Warchief watched him, lips parted as if he were drawing in the flavour of his prisoner’s anger through his mouth. “The purpose of an Omega,” he growled as his fingers touched each new part of Varian’s skin with casual possessiveness, “is to be serviced by an Alpha. We do not need Omegas to survive. But you need us, you need to be taken, need an Alpha to draw out your Heat and release it along with our seed. That is what you are, King. A vessel. Crowns, titles, position, they mean nothing.” His big thumb swirled around Varian’s groin, making him shudder with repressed need. “You were made for me to master.” He bent forward, so close his breath stirred the sweat-damp hair at Varian’s temple. “To win, you have to surrender. I find that…satisfying.”

He stepped away then and turned to leave. And as abhorrent as Varian found him, he had to bite down on an instinctive urge to ask him to stay.

Garrosh spoke to the healer waiting just outside the door. “I’m told you have experience with treating Omegas?”

“Yes, Warchief,” the old Tauren druid said, nodding in salute. “Is there need of my skills?”

“See to his arm and his head. But give him nothing to ease his Heat. And when he reaches the final stage, send me a message. In the meantime, keep him healthy.”

Garrosh returned the next day, to find the Tauren druid waiting outside the door. The expression on the old bull’s face was disapproving and Garrosh curled a lip.

“You invite punishment with that look, old one.”

The healer nodded slowly, the small bells on his horns ringing. “Perhaps, but I will risk it. I am a healer, it is my duty to ease the pain of others. That man,” he said, pointing towards the door, “is in great pain, and I can do little to help him. But you can. You do no honour to yourself, or to the Horde, by letting him remain that way.”

Garrosh lowed his head and sucked in a deep breath, letting it out through his nose. He was unaccustomed to explaining himself, but the Healer had a right to understand. “What is your name?”

“Kordek, Warchief.”

Garrosh moved across the room to a table and two benches, and indicated the other bench as he sat. “Come, I will try to explain this to you. You deserve to know, and you will need to know, to care for him.”

Kordek sat as ordered, curious despite himself. “That is my desire.”

“Good. But you must know this: we are Primes. I am an Alpha Prime, he is an Omega Prime – perhaps the only one in all of Azeroth. Varian Wrynn has never known defeat, as a warrior and a King. As an Omega, he has never known an Alpha his equal. I am his equal, I am the Alpha to his Omega. To survive, he must accept me. The one way he can accept me is if I dominate him. He must recognise my authority. And this human has never had to bow his head to anyone. But to live, he must. This is no easy thing, so I must bend him, his body and his will, I must force him to accept me as his master.”

Kordek frowned. “I have not heard this is the way between other Alphas and Omegas?”

“It isn’t, usually. The Alpha always controls but there is little need to dominate since both require and seek out the other. This is different, because we are different, obviously so. I cannot accept an Omega who challenges me, I cannot function so as an Alpha. And his nature makes things difficult. So, as I said, he must bend to me.”

“But what if you break him?” Kordek’s dark eyes glowed with his concerns.

“I won’t. You underestimate his strength. His body will live but his will, that I shall have to subdue."

“But…”

Garrosh sighed, drawing on patience he didn’t realise he possessed. “Healer, his mind tells him he would rather die than submit to me. But it is not his _mind_ I must reach. It is his Omega self, the part that…how do I put it, I am not usually good with words. His Omega self will always seek me for survival. That is what I must bring to the surface. Do you understand now?”

Kordek nodded, a smile growing with the understanding. “You speak well enough, Warchief, better than I thought. You wish to keep him alive, not just because he is sexually magnetic and a useful enemy prisoner, but because he would be your mate.”

Garrosh snorted as he heaved himself upright, abruptly tired of speech. “Nonsense. He is a human. I do not seek a mate there.”

“Sometimes we find things we did not know we were seeking. However, after your subdual of him, he is likely to hate you, is he not?”

Garrosh snorted again. “That will be nothing new. I can deal with his hatred, as long as he obeys me. If that’s all we have, I’ll deal with it.”

“I think you will find there is more to this thing between you than power and dominance and hate. But do what you must, Warchief. I will do my part as well.” Kordek stood to collect his healers pouch and saluted before leaving.

As soon as Garrosh entered and closed the door behind him, Varian’s Heat aura hit him like a blast of summer wind on the Barrens. It caused his body to come awake, stirring towards an arousal which he controlled. He walked towards the bed and sensed other things about his prisoner – the rank stink of sweat mingled with urine not entirely cleaned away, the sound of gasping breath broken now and then with whimpers, the shimmer of perspiration gleaming on pale skin. And eyes, blue and wide and almost feral, watching him from a face the picture of pain and want.

Varian was on his back, legs and arms still bound by chains attached to the manacles. He wasn’t fighting so much as writing against them, his body constantly in motion. His need was obvious, not only from his own arousal but from the smell that came to Garrosh as he stopped next to the bed. It was the unique odour of an Omega in Heat, the musky warm smell of the lubricants their bodies produced in readiness for sex. 

Garrosh slowly sat on the edge of the bed, close to, but not touching the man’s body. He bent closer, eyes narrowing as he resisted the magnetic pull of the Omega silently trying to seduce him. “Your body wants me, King. And I will be pleased to take it as it deserves. But first,” he said, unable to resist running a finger down the flushed cheek, “first you will ask. Ask for me."

He uncurled his fingers and rested his palm on Varian’s cheek. The head turned, slowly – and bit him.

Garrosh didn’t move, held himself still as the small teeth tried to dig into his hand. One of two of the teeth were sharper than the others and they broke the flesh, causing a little pain and some blood to flow. He waited, nose pinching, until Varian finally pulled his mouth back. His lips were painted blood red and he spat it towards Garrosh, gasping out a furious breath.

“Go..to hell!”

Garrosh nodded slowly and stood, dropping his hand, not looking at it. “Very well. I’ll come back again tomorrow and see if you’ve changed your mind. But I think it will be you who finds the way to hell, not me.”

The hours of the day and night seemed interminable, one long drawn-out time of anguish and growing stress. Varian had never known anything like it. No wound he’d taken had given him the same deep-seated pain that seemed to spread from his centre to every nerve in his body. He could no longer eat or drink, anything he took in he immediately vomited up. He knew the Tauren healer sat with him, felt his touch as the druid wiped a cold cloth over his face and neck, fed him tiny amounts of a potion that did little but settle his stomach for a short time and numb the thudding ever-present headache. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t rest. All he could do was endure.

Reality shifted as his vision blurred and he thought he was standing which seemed odd until he realised he was. The chains had been removed from the manacles and he was on his feet in the middle of the room, wavering back and forth as he fought for balance. His vision cleared finally and he blinked and wiped his gummy eyes, seeing Hellscream standing a short distance away. 

Not only saw him, but sensed him. The Alpha presence was so strong. It was everything he needed to survive and he took a step forward before he could stop himself. As he did finally stagger to a stop, Garrosh spoke.

“Ask me to help you. Say the words and give me your obedience. You must accept me as your Prime, Varian Wrynn.”

The words should be nonsense – he was a King, son of a King, no one was his master – but even thinking that it no longer seemed very important. He staggered forward another step. “Please…” It came out before he could stop it and it was like opening a sluice, the words just tumbled out, one on top of the other. “Please…help me, please.”

“On your knees.”

Varian sank down to the floor, his knees hitting the wood and he thought that hurt and he grunted, wavering. Looking up, he realised Garrosh was standing in front of him, holding out his hand. 

“Take my hand, lick where you bit me.”

_Bit? Yes, I remember biting…_ But the hand was there, warm with the power of an Alpha, the energy swirling around him and he took it like a thirsty man took water and pressed his face to it, soaking in the comfort, finding the small bruise, and licking it, humming with pleasure at the touch. The big fingers slid under his chin, forcing his head up.

“What am I to you, Omega?”

“Alpha…please..”

“And?”

_It’s just a word. Just…a…._ “…Prime…”

Arms slid around him, lifting him up and he was being held against a broad chest. He hung onto the Alpha’s body, shaking with need as Garrosh wrapped his arms around him. Varian pressed his face to the orc’s chest and tasted hot skin under his lips. Somewhere inside him a voice muttered about pride and hate and who it was that held him but he ignored it. This fight was over. He didn’t know if he’d won or lost. Right at that moment, he couldn’t find the strength to care.

There was barely an inch of his skin that didn’t hurt. 

_Sex shouldn’t be this painful, should it?_ He considered the thought as the tauren druid worked soothing gels over him. His scar-patterned skin was scratched and bruised by Garrosh’s hand and teeth. The Warchief had not been gentle. Apparently, an orc Alpha didn’t feel the need to be gentle. _Gentle probably isn’t in his vocabulary._

At least he was clean. Garrosh had left him alone with instructions for him to be taken to a bathing room, and one of the druid healer’s students had helped him get clean. The warmth of the water had soothed pulled muscles and he’d washed the various fluids from his body, the blood and semen and sweat that had liberally coated him. He’d cleaned everywhere he could reach. It seemed to help.

Though he still wore the manacles and was guarded, he wasn’t chained. _Perhaps he thinks I’m defeated_ Varian thought as the let himself be pushed inside the room and heard the door locked behind him. _We shall see…_

Of Garrosh, there was no sign. Which was a good thing, because right at that moment the orc was the last person he wanted to see. The druid healer had tended to his cuts and bruises, which weren’t serious, but more uncomfortable. He’d had Varian lay on his stomach first to treat the tender areas of his body, before turning him onto his back. As the healer carefully plied the gel across bruises in the shape of large fingers, Varian thought back on how he’d got them…

_..being held up on his knees, hands gripping his sides and fingers wrapping around to his stomach, pressing tightly as he was pushed forward in violent, rapid shoves…_

He couldn’t actually recall the pain of the fingers, it was lost among the overall experience. The druid’s annoyed tisk made him blink and focus up at the gentle features. “What?”

“The Warchief is…careless.”

“Careless.” Varian gave a weary laugh. “That’s diplomatic of you.”

“Shall we say, cautious. Garrosh Hellscream does not react well to admonishment.” The druid hesitated, then carried on. “This was your first time with an Alpha?”

“Yes. My first. I’m fortunate, am I not? Born a Primal Omega in a world where the only Alpha available to me is Garrosh Hellscream. Whose tender method of coupling is to compel my submission and use me by force.”

Bitter anger and shame swelled as he clenched sore muscles. _And everything hurts. Anger hurts, shame hurts. The physical part of it was minor by comparison._

Drawing on a warrior’s training, he sought his core and centred himself, focusing on his breathing until his heartbeat calmed. He drifted as the druid’s oils soothed his pain and relaxed his tensions. Although Varian’s Heat was not entirely gone, it no longer clawed at him in need. There was enough of it remaining that, despite his anger at Hellscream, the thought of him was enough to cause his body to respond. It was a shameful thing, the way he wanted more of that treatment. Yet when he remembered it, he not only recalled the hurt and humiliation, he recalled the pleasure as well. Varian was too honest to deny that there had been pleasure. As large a creature as he was, Garrosh was large in all ways; his cock had driven into Varian’s body like a staff of flesh, tearing skin and bruising his inexperienced body. Yet, the feel of it inside him, stroking and pulsing and filling him, had been extraordinary. It had been exactly what his Heat needed. It needed Garrosh in all his ruthless, savage power. It didn’t care what anguish the need created. 

And when his body had exploded with unwilling pleasure at the taking, it had exposed the part of him never previously revealed. Garrosh had howled with pleasure when Varian’s orgasm had completed his humiliation, revealing his frutal entry. _Yes, he was delighted at that, and how he enjoyed touching it, bringing me to another phase of my Heat that opened me even further for him. How he delighted in taking me there, planting his seed inside…saying things…_

He glanced up as the druid rested his hand on Varian’s stomach. Perhaps he sensed the direction of the man’s thoughts, or with a druidic sense of nature’s balance, knew the right time to speak. “You were frutal, were you not?”

Varian groaned, foreboding making his stomach clench. “Do not say it…”

“I am sorry to add to your distress, but you must know this. I believe you may be with child.”

Varian instinctively touched his stomach, shock making his hands shake. “How can you…it’s too soon!”

“The spark of life is tiny but separate. It may not survive, such gestations often fail. Will you tell him?”

Varian shook his head, pulling his hand away. “No. Not yet. Maybe not ever. What kind of thing would it be, to come of this? No,” he repeated, pushing himself upright and searching for clothing, “I won’t have it. And you aren’t to tell him – this is my private choice.”

The old healer looked uncertain and unhappy, but he nodded. “As you wish. But he is my leader and if he asks me, I will not lie.”

Garrosh ducked aside as he opened the door, dodging the pissjar (thankfully empty) that crashed against the door frame near his head. Kicking the door shut behind him he stood, hands on hips, and glared.

“Must I chain you again to make you behave?”

Varian was kneeling on the bed, his hands clenched into fists and his eyes flaring in defiance. His only response was a flash of bared teeth. Garrosh nodded grimly and advanced. “Very well. If you wish to be treated like a shackled whelp, then you shall be.” 

He strode forward, grabbed the chain from the floor and stopped at the bedside, looking down at the wide, watchful eyes. As he bent to take Varian’s arm, the man’s other hand came to rest on his wrist. 

“Garrosh... don’t.”

The words were enough to make him pause, but it was the wash of feeling that came with the touch that froze him in place. Need and desire all swirled together along with the tantalizing sense of an Omega in Heat. He was caught in a net of warm energy as his annoyance faded like mist. His focus refined down to his senses and thought vanished. 

Garrosh had never felt anything like it. When he could finally think again he was standing half-bent, the chain sliding through his fingers to the floor, coiling into a clinking mound, and Varian was holding him in place with nothing more than the lightest touch of his hand and the projected aura of a Prime Omega. 

He swallowed and licked his lips. “How…what did you…?”

“Did you think only an Alpha has power to control?” Varian’s voice was low as his fingers stroked the pulse point on Garrosh’s wrist. “An Omega’s power is subtler. Then again,” he said, letting the hand drop, “subtlety isn’t an orc’s strong point, is it. You’re more into beating things into submission.”

Garrosh knelt on the bed and took hold of both of Varian’s manacled wrists. “Would you have accepted me in any other way?”

“I wasn’t given the chance to find out. I was given no choice at all.”

Garrosh looked down at the iron-braced leather manacles. “You delude yourself. You chose me over death. The sooner you understand that, the sooner these can go. You need only recognise my command, whether in Heat or not. 

“You want the impossible. I am not just any Omega, any man – I am the High King of the Alliance. Do you think my people will sit by and allow you to hold me without some form of response?”

Garrosh stood and looked down, studying the features of the man, watching the way tension and anger flickered across his features. How had he ever thought this man was stone-faced? Or perhaps he was to others. _He is my Omega, my Prime. I see what others don’t. And perhaps the reverse applies as well._ He wasn’t sure he was comfortable with the idea of someone being able to read him so easily.

“I sent a letter last night to your son, along with your sword.” Her hadn’t wanted to part with Shalamayne, it was fine prize, but it was proof the Alliance would need. “I told him you were now mine, that his Alliance should choose another leader because I have claimed you as my Prime Omega. To retrieve you will be to cause your death. I think your son and his people will choose life for you, even if you reject it.”

He stood and stepped back, distancing himself for the moment from that tempting warmth. “You will eat the evening meal with me in my rooms tonight, and then you will come to my bed and serve me. Understand -no one will come to help you. The sooner you accept that, the easier your life will be. You belong with the Horde now.”

One of the guards who came to collect Varian that evening made the mistake of grabbing him by the arm. Varian’s reaction was to smash a fist into the Orc’s wrist, then grab and twist it until a bone snapped.

The fight that followed had two orcs and one human rolling their way out of the room, into the corridor and down a set of stairs. Obstacles along the way - including a variety of people and miscellaneous furniture – were crushed or broken or managed to get out of the way. Even dressed in plain leather and unarmed, Varian fought with savage precision, using a piece of broken table to smash one orc on the head while he kicked the second in the groin. The orcs were disadvantaged by not being able to cause him any serious injury, and he took full advantage of it. He laughed at them, swiping hair from his face as he leapt onto a table in the lower tower meeting room and watched their furious frustration as he taunted them.

The fight could have continued for quite some time but was interrupted by a loud, angry bellow that brought both guards to attention.

“Greater demon’s hairy balls, what’s going on here!”

Varian pivoted without losing his place on the table and looked down into Garrosh’s flushed features. The Warchief switched from glaring at his guards to glaring at Varian. “You! Get. Down!”

Varian folded his arms on his chest. “Please?” He watched anger turning the Warchief’s ruddy skin a darker hue. “Well, you have previously enjoyed me saying ‘please’. It seemed apt.”

Garrosh stalked forward and Varian jumped down, landing squarely and balanced an arm’s length from the Alpha. “Do we eat now? I’ve worked up an appetite.”

He didn’t fight the grip of the big hand that took hold of his arm – Varian felt he’d made his point and let himself be led out of the room by a grimly fuming Warchief without attempting to resist. He walked, making it unnecessary to be pulled, matching his stride with Garrosh’s and even speeding up so that the Alpha had to increase his pace. It was a small dance of control and dominance - it was worth the pain of the tight grip on his arm to know he’d unsettled the big orc. Sometimes the small battles were just as effective as the larger wars.

Finally, Garrosh let go and pushed him through a doorway at the end of a corridor. A lit fireplace comfortably warmed the room, with a table set for eating and some food already in place. Varian went to the washbowl, cleaned his hands and wiped them on the cloth provided, then turned to assess both the meat and the Alpha.

Each seemed to be a little overcooked.

He settled on the bench and reached for bread. “Hmm, is that roast kodo? I hope it’s not tough, I don’t have tusks to…”

“Varian.”

He looked up, eyebrows raised. “Yes?”

“Stop talking about food. What were you doing, fighting your guards? Another foolish attempt to escape? Have we not reached an understanding that escape is pointless?”

“Actually, you reached that understanding. I haven’t decided yet. And as far as the fight goes – your guard grabbed my arm. I didn’t like it, so I stopped him. Things sort of …got out of hand, as it were…after that.”

Garrosh settled onto the bench and placed both hands carefully on the table. “I will speak to the guards. Even so, your persistence in defying me is foolish. It will gain you only pain and further stress.”

Conversation paused as two goblin servitors entered bearing laden trays. They bobbed their heads in salute and unloaded the trays, then left.

_And outside, one of the goblins whispered into a small communications device. “Location confirmed. Proceed with Operation Retrieval….”_

Garrosh reached for one of the jugs of ale, then froze as a gust of displaced air exploded around him. He tumbled backwards, there was a flash of arcane light and a portal opened in the middle of the room. Figures emerged from the portal and he staggered up, saw human faces and human armour and his hand moved instinctively for a weapon to counter the warriors turning towards him. As he did, he heard Varian shout: “Don’t kill Garrosh!”

He lunged towards Varian, arms out to grab and hold, but Varian was pulled backwards into the portal’s vortex.

A moment later it collapsed, leaving the room empty with Garrosh standing, furious and shocked, holding nothing but a handful of dark hair.

Varian was speaking to the soldiers who’d taken part in the rescue, offering a handshake, a thump on the back or shoulder, a smile and a good word to each, and Anduin watched him and wondered.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to have returned to him. Being a prisoner of Garrosh Hellscream, his father could have been tortured, mutilated, crippled in mind or body, stricken by abuse or pain. Yet he seemed hale and strong and…different. And for the life of him Anduin couldn’t put his finger on just what the difference was.

Eventually Varian turned towards him, and his smile was bright and open. _There it is again…warmth, genuine pleasure._ He moved forward as the soldiers turned away to leave them alone and Varian took hold of him and pulled him into a hug.

“Hullo my son.”

“Father.” He looked up, naturally searching for any sign of illness or injury through the Light’s guidance – and found nothing. There were some small degree of stress, a few new bruises and scars but his father often returned from battle with those. Yet from being in the hands of the Horde, there was nothing obvious or significant. It was a relief, and a puzzlement. “You’re looking very well, considering.”

His father smiled again, the same sunny, easy expression that Anduin couldn’t recall ever seeing before. “Yes, I am well. Was this rescue your idea?”

“Mine, and Valen’s. You know how the Prophet is – he sees things that none of us do, and he felt very strongly that the time was right to bring you home.” Anduin linked one arm with his father’s and they walked together out of the throne room and through to Varian’s private quarters. “Once we had a plan in place, I asked the mages to get the troops there. Andromath nearly had a seizure when I asked him to open a portal in Orgrimmar.” Anduin’s smile mirrored his father’s. “Apparently ignorance can be a positive thing, it makes you think you can do something people say you can’t. I sort of insisted he try, so he figured out a way to do it. I think there are half a dozen mages lying unconscious in the Wizard’s Sanctum at the moment – apparently it took a bit more power than I, as a mere Priest, could appreciate.”

“I imagine so, given the wards that were probably in place to prevent just such a thing being done.” Varian moved through the room and stripped off his gloves, tossing them onto his work desk. He paused at the sight of Shalamayne sitting there, and stroked it. “I suppose the note Garrosh sent caused a bit of a stir.”

“A bit. I thought…” His voice shook and he stopped, sucking in a deep, steadying breath and his father turned to him, eyes shadowing with concern. “I realise the possibility of losing you is always there, whenever you go outside the walls of Stormwind. I…we..knew, after you didn’t return from Ashenvale, that something had happened. At least his note confirmed you were alive. The rest – well, I refused to do nothing. I don’t take orders from the Warchief of the Horde.”

“And you should not. I realise there is a lot to tell you. Some things you need to know. For the moment I’d like to wash up, change and get something to eat. Your rescue interrupted dinner. Not that I mind that – the Kodo looked overcooked…”

Anduin joined his father for dinner later that evening and they ate in the comfortable privacy of the King’s dining room. Varian used his belt knife to peel an orange, carefully unwinding the rind in a neat spiral. “I assume you know I’m an Omega.”

Anduin sucked in a deep breath and expelled it, knowing he and his father were heading into the sort of personal territory they rarely explored. “I suspected you were, his note confirmed it of course.”

“Really?” Varian cut the rind away and began slicing the orange into segments. He poked the knife into one part and offered it to Anduin, who took it automatically. “I thought I’d managed to hide it from everyone but the healers.”

“Well, you are sort of the most important person in my life, I tend to watch you fairly closely. I never saw or heard you show interest in anyone, man or woman, at least from when I was old enough to pay attention. And you had those regular visits from a healer I knew specialised in exotic potions. But it was just a guess and I thought I was being stupid to even consider it.”

“No, not stupid.” Varian sliced off a piece of the orange and popped it into his mouth, chewing it as he watched Anduin, his eyes intent. “I’m an Omega, but not JUST an Omega. I’m also a Prime. And yes, that makes my life even more complicated – and if whichever of the Gods or powers or whatever decided to make me such a crazy combination of improbable sexuality could explain it, I’d be overjoyed. An Alpha I couldn’t almost understand, but an Omega – it seemed like a cosmic joke. However, it’s anything but funny. Especially when the suppressant potions that the healer was giving me stopped working.”

Anduin dragged up everything he knew about Omegas – which wasn’t that much. “I understand an Omega must seek an Alpha for the Heat, but what is a Prime?”

“A Prime is an Omega who cannot release their Heat with just any Alpha – it must be a Prime Alpha. And in all my years since coming into my first Heat, I had never found, or even heard, of a Prime Alpha. Hence the use of the suppressant.”

Fear suddenly sprang into Anduin’s middle, as if he’d been knifed. “Gods! You…you went to Ashenvale to die, didn’t you.”

Varian nodded, dropping the fruit onto his plate and wiping his hands on a napkin. “Without the suppressant, and going into Heat with no way of releasing it, my choices were reduced to zero. Either way I was going to die and I decided I’d rather die fast, in battle, than slowly in agony. But when I’d almost reach my end I met up with Garrosh Hellscream and found the only living Alpha Prime.”

Anduin sat nursing his half-empty mug of ale as his father told him of his time in Orgrimmar. While he didn’t expound on the more intimate aspects, Anduin could work out some of the things that must have happened. At the same time, he tried to work his mind around the notion of an orc – **that** orc – having sex with his father. He wasn’t sure his mind was that adaptable and he gave up eventually and just accepted the facts. What surprised him more was the matter-of-fact way Varian talked of that time, as if it hadn’t been as traumatic as Anduin guessed it probably had been. _It must be something to do with the whole Alpha/Omega chemistry, that allows for a level of intimacy beyond what the rest of us can know, or need. No time for flowers and cosy dinners, not when survival is in play. _And that was followed by a spark of sadness, because it seemed a cruel and lonely kind of existence for such a noble man.

“Can I ask…how I came to be?”

Varian reached out to lay one hand on Anduin’s arm. “Your mother was a very special woman, do you know that? It is possible for an Omega to be sexually active with a normal, but only briefly and only with the use of some very powerful aphrodisiacs. After a few attempts, we managed to create you, for which I am grateful to her every day since your birth.”

Anduin blushed and nodded. “Thank you. So, what happens now,” he asked, when Varian had finally brought the tale up-to-date. “Will you have to go back to him again?”

Varian rested his elbows on the table, propping up his chin with both hands as he stared unfocused at the flames in the fireplace. “That, my son, is the question. As it stands, I have two choices: virtual sexual slavery to the Warchief, or death. Neither one particularly appeals to me.”

“If I may say so, as distasteful as it might be, I prefer the former to the latter.” He kept his tone light, although his heart ached at the prospects. “Alive, you have the chance to do something, change something, fine a resolution. Dead, well…death provides no opportunities.”

Varian’s eyes focused on Anduin and a small smile curled his lips up. “You are very wise, my son. I’d rather not die too, of course. I have a lot to do in the world yet before my spirit moves on to the Light.” He shrugged and sighed. “Anyhow, enough of all this talk of death. I have time yet to figure out a way around this and make my decision. In the meantime, I have a great deal of work to do.”

Three months passed so quickly, Varian almost missed the date. 

Normally he was incredibly sensitive to dates – his Omega state made awareness of his cycles important. Yet as the days passed into weeks, he was so busy that he lost track of the ticking of his internal clock. And it was only when he was writing in his diary one day that he noted the date – a date that should have him right on the edge of a Heat.

And of the Heat, there was no sign. He used to liken it to a storm growing on the horizon, when the first sharp gusts of wind stirred the curtains and the smell of unspent lightning was in the air. Yet there was nothing.

And he guessed what that meant. The only natural cause for an Omega not to go into Heat was because their cycle had been interrupted by pregnancy. 

He dropped his pen and put his hand to his stomach. _Still alive in there? Of course you are. As obstinate as both parents, it seems. Determined to live despite the foolishness of it. I could…._

Kill it. He could kill it. And it should be easy enough to do, given how it had been conceived, in force and pain. And given who its Alpha was. What its Alpha was. 

He slapped his palm on the desk and growled in frustrated anger. “I am a fool.” He couldn’t do it. It was the one part of his state that was his choice and no amount of logic, no little demanding voice of common sense that he might not even survive its birth was reason enough. It – he or she – wanted to live, and he’d give it the chance. Whatever followed, he would be at peace with his own soul. 

With the passing of time Varian experienced changes and effects of his condition. He’d occasionally wake miserably sick, unable to face food and ill to the point of vomiting. He’d approached a city herbalist – not wanting a healer to assess him and discover the pregnancy – who brewed him up some draughts of mint and other herbs that did help settle his gut. Casual discussion with some of the women of the court revealed that women suffered from what they called morning sickness during various parts of pregnancy, so it didn’t seem to be anything serious enough to warrant seeing a healer. Just unpleasantly miserable.

And he started eating and drinking more. Some of the foods he wanted verged on bizarre. Normally he preferred his meat cooked medium, but he found that, by the fourth month, he liked it better almost raw, and lots of it. The lack of physical exertion and the extra intake of food – along with the growing child – started making his clothing uncomfortably tight, so he increased his daily exercise. 

After five months of being confined within Stormwind, Varian decided it was time to venture outside. Not that he hadn’t been busy – with Deathwing causing grief across the world there was plenty to occupy the Alliance. Not to mention the ongoing tension between it and the Horde. What had previously been a simmering antipathy had grown to an all-out hatred and firefights broke out across the world whenever the two forces met. It was draining, exhausting and ultimately futile. It interfered with the greater need to defend the world. But the Warchief would have nothing to do with any offers of co-operation. In any event, it made little difference – the other leaders weren’t that anxious to work with him – his capture of Varian and lack of response to any communications hadn’t impressed them. 

So one fine autumn day, when he’d woken feeling better than he had for weeks, Varian decided to head out for some hunting and fishing. There were plenty of places with in a day’s easy ride of the city where both of those activities were available, and he took two soldiers along for company. He had a hunting cabin not far from the river and south of the lumber camp and he set up his gear there, leaving one of the soldiers to guard the equipment and horses and taking the other one with him.

It had been ages since Varian had fished. It was a pastime he generally found too sedentary for his tastes but right then it was what he needed. He could sit with his back to a tree in the broken sunlight, legs stretched out and the rod resting easily against one raised knee, the bobber floating in the slow-flowing stream. 

With no work to occupy his mind, it naturally drifted to the two important matters in his life – the child and what to do about it, and what to do about his Heat when it eventually came on him again. 

_Nine months. A normal human gestation period is nine months. I’ve no idea if this one will be more or less. I doubt there is anyone who does know. It’s a uniqueness I could do without. _He hated not having information resources to base his decisions on. As a leader, information was as vital to him as strength of arms. Yet in this most significant issue, he was in the dark. Could he carry it to whatever the term was? Would his body – his human body – adapt enough to deliver it? And if he did and they both survived, what would it be like? Half human, half orc. _Like Garona, half of one world and half of another. _She wasn’t the most noble example to consider, given she’d killed his father. In her, the orc had overwhelmed the human, or whatever her other parent had been. She’d slaughtered a fine man who’d trusted and cared for her. Was this child of his also doomed to be outcast and….

_And it’s all moot, and nonsense. Worry about now, plan for what you can and deal with future events as they arise.._ He rested one hand on his stomach. _I’ll give you the chance to prove you are better than her and more than just the get of an uncaring sire. _

The thought came to him that if the child did survive, it would probably guarantee his choosing life with its father. He could hardly abandon it then any more than he could now.

He was dozing, half-asleep and at ease, when it happened. There was a familiar clashing sound, a shout, a bright orange light and the smell of something bitter. Varian dropped his rod and staggered upright, trying to hold his breath because his immediate sense was _drug_ but it was too late. He’d breathed in enough and he swayed, his vision going misty and cloudy as hands grabbed him. There was another flash, this one magical, and the world shifted, the forest was gone and he was somewhere else.

The hands holding him pushed him forward and he staggered, blinking, wiping his eyes but the world was still spinning around and he couldn’t co-ordinate his limbs. He felt things being slid over his hands and then a big hand pushed his head up and another something was being wrapped around his throat.

Fumbling with his fingers, he felt a collar. It was a collar. And the things on his arms were manacles, these ones solid metal. And as the last of his vision faded he saw Garrosh, his face very close, his eyes wide and golden and unblinkingly feral. Even as consciousness slipped away he knew that the means to make any choices about his future were likely gone…

Varian woke to being shaken and to a sharp slap across his face. He blinked, trying to clear his vision as he was pulled upright then slammed face forward and down. A heavy weight landed on him, pinning to a soft surface and as he became more aware he realised he was naked.

And that the heavy weight on him was Garrosh.

Breath stirred past his ear. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” Hands roamed over his body; he pushed and twisted, trying to get free but the orc’s grip was too firm. “Get off me!”

“I think not. We were interrupted the last time you were here. We will not be this time.”

Realisation hit him in the gut and Varian hissed. “I’m not in Heat!”

“I don’t care. I can, and will, take you whenever I wish. Heat or no. You will learn your place.”

Even as he twisted onto his back, kicking at Garrosh to try and dislodge him, Varian knew this was a fight he couldn’t win. One punch from that big fist into his abdomen and the child would die. He couldn’t protect it in a fight, not naked and unarmed against an opponent as powerful and unrestrained as Garrosh. The Warchief would strike Varian in whatever way he could to subdue and punish. _And if I tell him, that may not matter. He might find it an abomination, or an inconvenience that delays my Heat. I have to stop him, at least until I can think of…something…._

Not that he had any idea what that ‘something’ might be, but he had no time right then to come up with a plan. Despairing at the need, he stopped fighting and sagged down. Garrosh sensed his submission at once and pulled back. “If this is some trick…”

“No trick.” Varian’s throat was thick with the misery of an unendurable defeat he must still endure. “You knew I would have to return eventually. It seems pointless to fight when the battle is already lost.”

Garrosh slid off the bed and stood, looking down at him, intent and watchful. “Get up.”

Varian stood, swaying a little as the tension rippled through him. Garrosh pointed to the floor.

“Kneel. Take my hand, swear upon your honour that you will obey my orders as they relate to you alone, and that you will not try to leave Orgrimmar or allow yourself to be taken away. Ever.”

Varian knelt and saw that the hand he lifted to take Garrosh’s larger hand was shaking and he used every part of his control to still it. He placed the hand on Garrosh’s and looked up into the orc’s watchful amber eyes. “All that you say I do so swear on my honour.” 

After a moment, the Warchief nodded and let his hand drop. He didn’t gloat or threaten, he didn’t speak at all. Garrosh took the chain that hung from his belt and attached it to the collar around Varian’s throat. The weight of it was heavier than any words.

Taking a compliant Varian wasn’t as satisfying as Garrosh had thought it would be. Though the physical pleasure was still there, something was missing. There was no fire in the blue eyes that looked up at him, no bared teeth and flexing muscles, no sense of unbridled energy. It was just a body made available to the Warchief by the man’s own consent, however unwillingly that consent had been achieved.

There was a lot more effort involved in sex with an Omega out of heat, he found. The lubricants present during Heat adapted their bodies for sex, warmed and loosened it, drew the Alpha’s cock in and welcomed it. Without that, things had to be done to make it easier. Oils needed to be worked inside, massage applied and fingers used to relax and expand the ring of muscle and it was all rather tedious. Not that the sex wasn’t good, once achieved. An orgasm was always worthy of the effort. Yet Varian took no pleasure from it, which he couldn’t, given that Omegas experienced no arousal outside their Heat. While Varian’s pleasure wasn’t the point of the act, he was still aware that nothing he did excited the man’s body in any way.

In fact, at one point, he actually appeared bored by the whole thing. He’d been on his back, his unfocused eyes staring up towards the ceiling as Garrosh grunted his way towards climax. He lay with his legs up over Garrosh’s chest, hands clasped on his stomach as if he was doing nothing more than contemplating the roof structure rather than being thoroughly fucked by an Alpha Prime. During the whole time he’d not said a word and made hardly any sound, not even at moments when Garrosh had caused him pain. He seemed to expect it, even though it hadn’t been intentional. 

There wasn’t anything deliberately challenging about it but it still seemed somehow --insulting.

Garrosh had arranged for a well-filled pad to be put on the floor of his room against one wall, with furs and blankets provided for warmth. When he was done he allowed Varian to clean himself in the private bathing room next to his bed chamber and then attached his chain to a ring on the wall, locking it in place. He didn’t give him clothing – hadn’t thought of it in fact – but the rooms were warm enough and the silent man pulled the bedding around himself in a cocoon and turned his face to the wall. 

Garrosh wished he knew why he found the whole thing unsatisfactory. _It seems I’m difficult to please,_ he thought as he settled himself for sleep. _I wished to defeat him – and I have – and then when I achieve it, it doesn’t content me._ His pleasure at owning Varian was immense – when had a Horde Warchief ever held the Warchief of the Alliance subvservient to his wishes? Never, it was a great coup. Yet he wanted more than that. He just wasn’t sure what _more_ was.

Garrosh lay on his back in bed, hands behind his head, staring into the shadows as Varian’s breathing slowed, and he fell asleep thinking of things he could do to get a reaction from that extremely self-contained and frustrating human….

Garrosh was woken before sunrise by something hitting his head. He lurched upright, immediately awake and searching for enemies. The only one present was sitting on a bed pad on the floor across the room, glaring at him.

“I need to use the privy, now!”

“Did you throw something at me, dog?”

“NOW! Unless..you want the place…decorated with vomit!!”

Garrosh focused on Varian’s face, noted it was very pale and his eyes were glassy and moist. Certainly the look of someone about to be sick. The Warchief rolled out of bed and shuffled across the room, unlocking the collar’s chain from the wall with the key on his bracer. Varian ran for the door and moments later came the sound of retching. It had obviously been a close thing.

He returned a little time later as Garrosh was dressing. The Warchief couldn’t remember ever seeing the King looking quite so wan. He put up a hand as Varian approached, and pointed to his bed pad in the corner. “Don’t come near me. I don’t want whatever you have.”

Varian grunted as he slid down, sitting cross-legged with his back to the wall. “It’s just a sickness of my stomach.”

“Hmm.” Garrosh eyed the afflicted stomach. “Well, it does look bloated. Are you certain it isn’t catching?”

Varian wiped his face with a cloth, looking a miserable shadow of his normally powerful self. “Fairly certain, though you never know about these things. I just need to speak to your herbalist, there is a mixture that helps.”

“I’ll send a healer to you.”

“If you must, could it be the druid -- Kordek, was it? He seemed well-taught.”

“Very well.” He bent to tie his bootlaces. “Food should help settle it. Some hot greasy bacon, mashed roots, a few soft eggs with butter…”

It was quite satisfying watching Varian grab his mouth and bolt for the privy again….

Varian was slouched on his makeshift bed, miserable and annoyed and generally unhappy with his life when Kordek appeared a little time later. He looked up at the druid, who shook his head, clicking his tongue.

“Dear me, you look terrible. What seems to be the problem?”

“Garrosh Hellscream. Do you have a cure?”

The tauren crouched down next to him and laid a large pawn on his head very gently. “Sadly, no. It’s a common complaint, though. Now, let us see to your needs, at least the ones I can help you with.” Varian sighed and closed his eyes as a wave of warmth spread through him, easing sore muscles and taking away the pains that the Warchief had inflicted. He’d fought his own small battle not to show how much the orc’s use of him had hurt, but hurt it had and he was bruised and torn inside and out. 

The druid lifted his hand and sat back on his hoofs. “There, that should make you more comfortable. I am sorry this was done to you, but the Warchief’s behaviour is not something I can influence. However, I can tell you that your child is alive and doing very well. Should it come to term, it will be a very healthy…” He paused, eyes narrowed. “Do you wish to know its sex?”

Varian shrugged. “I don’t care either way so, yes.”

“A female. You are carrying a healthy half human-orc female.”

Knowing its sex seemed to make it more of a person and less of just an ‘it’. _A girl. A half-sister for Anduin. What will he think of that, I wonder? _“She causes me almost as much trouble as her sire. Every morning for weeks I’ve suffered from illness because of her.”

“Hmm, that’s common.” The druid placed his palm on Varian’s abdomen. “We don’t understand why it happens but healers have found certain things help. Make sure you drink small amounts of water regularly. Not large amounts, that is likely to make you feel uncomfortable. As silly as it sounds, an empty stomach can make it worse, so keep some dried fruits or cakes with you to nibble on. And I’ll have my herbalist make you up a tea that I’ve found effective, mostly ginger and mint. Otherwise, just rest during it and keep active afterwards. Oh, and you will probably find that you will soon, if not already, start wanting to pee more frequently.”

“Oh yes, that’s happening now.”

“Aye, tis the babe pressing on your bladder. No cure for that aside from birthing it, I’m afraid.” He studied Varian as his hands continued to infuse healing energy. “Is the Warchief aware of your pregnancy yet?”

“No. Though he did say he though I looked bloated.” Varian snorted and shook his head. “Not terribly quick on picking up the obvious.”

“He will soon. As you requested, I have not told him but should his treatment of you threaten the child’s life, it will be my duty as a healer to make him aware of it. So perhaps you need to tell him before that. He’s likely to be quite angry with you if the news comes from me rather than from you.”

“He’s likely to be ‘quite angry’ no matter who tells him.”

Kordek stood, cleaning his hands on a cloth pulled from his healer’s pouch. “Perhaps in this you underestimate him. I do not know how it is with humans, but most males are pleased when their mate carries their child.”

“Except I am not his mate. I am his property, for want of a better word.” Varian shivered, suddenly chilled as cooler air moved over his skin. “Could you arrange for some clothing? They took mine away when I arrived.”

“Certainly, I’ll have the guards provide you with something suitable. You need to keep warm now, you will find you are likely more sensitive to the cold. And I’ll send that tea along to you, as well as some of my wife’s excellent butter biscuits. You need to eat something.”

Varian shivered again, thanked the healer for his kindness and wrapped the blankets around himself as he waited for his stomach to settle. He’d been procrastinating, holding off telling Garrosh about the pregnancy and the reasons had seemed fair enough but he knew he was just putting off the inevitable. The orc might be unobservant but Varian was growing larger almost with each passing day. Eventually Garrosh would either work it out or he’d know absolutely when Varian’s next Heat failed to trigger. 

Kordek’s promised clothing turned up an hour later, along with a packet containing a dried tea mixture and pile of warm biscuits. His stomach had settled enough by then and the guards provided hot water and a cup for his tea. With the warmth of that easing his insides and the biscuits taking away his hunger pangs, Varian dressed and settled back to wait for his nemesis’ return, and the potentially harrowing conversation.

There were few things more certain to stir Varian’s temper than inactivity. 

He was chained, sitting on the bed pad with nothing to do but dwell on his situation. And the less he did and the more he thought, the greater his irritation grew. As he fingered the chain in restless impatience, he would think – _all I need to do is grab the thing and pull it out of the wall. That would feel good. _He’d find his hands gathering the chain to do just that and he’d stop and force himself to let it go because he’d promised to obey, and one of the commands had been to stay and not fight the restraints. But as his stare became unfocused, as the boredom changed into tedium and from there into frustration, his hand would move again to the chain and begin to curl into a fist around the links. It wouldn’t be that difficult. Just one quick, hard _pull…_

If he’d been in range of anything breakable, he might have vented his growing irritation that way. Smashing things often helped. But everything near him was soft and shredding the blankets seemed a childish idea. Added to that he was hungry and thirsty, having had only a handful of biscuits in almost twelve hours. And he needed to pee and the jar was full. The thought of that gave him pause. A full one. That would be a handy tension release and he pictured himself tossing the contents over Garrosh when he walked through the door.

_But that probably comes under the ‘not fighting back’ order. _He clenched his teeth till his jaws ached. If leaving him alone and inactive for hours was a technique designed to teach him his place, it wasn’t working. All it was doing was making him annoyed. But then, perhaps Garrosh wanted him annoyed. So that he could punish him when he gave into that annoyance. If so, _that_ plan was working just fine.

He was walking back and forth within the confines of the chain when Garrosh returned. Varian stopped, hands on hips and eyes narrowed as the Warchief walked through the door. The attitude was noted immediately.

“Well, you can take look off your face at once. Unless you want it beaten off.”

It was a command, and he’d pledged himself to obey Garrosh but for the life of him, Varian couldn’t just let it go. His nostrils flared as he sucked in breath, and he continued to glare. He barely noticed Kordek’s entry behind the Warchief, his entire focus was on Garrosh. Wide, amber eyes locked on his, trying to dominate as the big orc move towards him.

“Did you hear me? Or are you hard of hearing as well as disobedient?”

The anger, that had simmered all day, rose like a flame through his middle. Varian’s lips curled in defiance, lips drawing back into a snarl; Garrosh leapt forward, far faster than an orc should be able to move, and he lashed out with one open hand to Varian’s head. The King tried to dodge it and caught the blow on the shoulder as he ducked. The chain pulled him off balance and he fell forward. As he did he felt the chain being grabbed and wrapped around his arms which were pulled behind his back. Varian wriggled, trying to roll over and he saw Garrosh pull a long, slender wooden object from a hook on the wall. A foot landed on the middle of his back, holding him down.

“By your oath to obey my orders – you will lay there and take punishment. And you will ask me to stop when you have had enough.”

It hurt, there was no doubt about that, but he’d taken worse while learning his trade as a gladiatorial slave. It was more the shame that burned, being beaten like a dog while held in place by the orc’s foot on his back. Then Garrosh’s foot shifted to his lower back and the pressure came down on his abdomen – and that he couldn’t allow. Shame was a bitter taste in his mouth. “Stop.”

The strikes ceased. “Say it again.”

“Stop. Please.”

The foot lifted from his back and he was jerked up by his hair to his knees. Garrosh put a hand under his chin, forcing him to look up and he noted in the part of his mind not boiling with humiliation that the cane was spotted with his blood. “I will not order you under your oath not to challenge me - but know that each time you do, you will be beaten and you will beg me to stop. You **will** learn who is your master, whether through pain or disgrace. The choice is yours.” The hand firmed on his chin. “Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Good.”

The orc tossed the stained cane aside and turned away, letting Varian’s head drop. “Tend to his wounds,” he said to the druid as he left, “then have him cleaned and fed.”

Varian knew a bath would not wash away the touch of that hand.

Kordek took him to the bathing chamber, stripped away the bloodied shirt and the rest of his clothing and washed him clean. The wounds weren’t that bad, mere stripes that had bled when the cane had struck the same spot repeatedly. Varian sat silently as the druid worked, healing his outwards wounds but unable to do anything for the other, deeper pain. The druid didn’t speak while he worked, except to ask him to turn for the healing. When he was finished he knelt in front of Varian and rested a hand on the King’s knee.

“You have not told him, have you.”

Varian shook his head as he stared, unfocused, at the far wall. “There didn’t seem to be quite the right moment between abuse and punishment.” His fingers made their own way to his stomach, moving over the bulge now more evident. “Might be better if we both died. I can’t see a future for either of us.”

“That does not sound like the Varian Wrynn I have heard tell of. To give up on life without a fight.”

Varian’s brief snort of laughter was weary and humourless. “Problem is, I can’t fight my way out of this particular trap. Escape means my death, eventually.” His fingers continued to move over the warm swell of his stomach. “I don’t know what his reaction will be when I tell him but even assuming the best, that he allows the child to come to term, and assuming its born and we both survive the process – what then? With the most optimistic view to my life, it seems to be an unending series of forced intercourse and potentially more pregnancies if I become frutal again to him. I can’t…” His hand shook over his stomach and he clenched it. “I cannot see anything in that future that makes for my life worth fighting for.”

Kordek stood and cleaned his hands, expression surprisingly calm. “You know, life has a way of working out. Its ultimate purpose is survival. Give it a chance. I have the feeling it will offer you an unexpected path. You just need to watch for it, and be prepared to take it when it reveals itself to you. Now come,” he finished, holding out a hand, “let’s get you some food into you and locate better clothing. And then you need to rest and put this sour attitude behind you.” He helped Varian stand and chuckled as the King’s stomach emitted a hungry rumble. “See, she needs you. Come with me and we’ll find some sustenance for both of you.”

Varian snorted as he followed the druid out, tossing the chain over his shoulder. “Right now she is telling me she wants a plate of undercooked meat and a bowl of chocolate cookies. That particular unexpected path is likely to lead to indigestion.”

Lunch improved his mood. Even simply walking out to the tavern to eat gave him something different to do. Two of the Warchief’s personal guards went with him but they didn’t interfere. It wasn’t likely he’d make a break for it, they were probably more to protect him from unwanted attention than anything else. And the locals _were_ intrigued by his appearance. It wasn’t every day they saw the High King of the Alliance wandering their streets.

Varian kept a close eye on passers-by. Horde members, especially orcs, had no real love for humans and they were likely to do anything if they were carrying a grudge. But word seemed to have spread that he was under the Warchief’s protection. Not many Horde would want to gain the ire of Garrosh Hellscream.

And when he returned, Garrosh was waiting for him. He’d just finished a session with his council and advisors; the big table in the war room was spread with maps and three-dimensional representations of troops and towns. Varian itched to take a look but he wasn’t given the chance. The Warchief signalled the room cleared and had the door secured, then dismissed the guards so that they were alone in the large chamber.

He walked around Varian where he stood in the middle of the room with the chain draped over his shoulder. Garrosh lifted Varian’s shirt and inspected his back. “That druid healed you too well. You should have been left to scar, so you would remember.”

“I don’t need scars to remember.” He kept his tone even and as Garrosh lifted the chain and moved towards his throne on the raised dais. Varian had to follow and came to a stop on the steps as the Warchief settled into the large fur-covered chair.

“I’m not so sure of that.” Garrosh twirled the links of the chain absently between his finger and thumb, watching Varian, his expression thoughtful. “What do you want?”

“What do I… That’s an odd question.”

“It’s a simple question. What do you want?”

Varian stood at a parade rest with his hands folded behind his back. “Let’s see. I want to live some sort of decent life. I want to see my home again. I want my people to survive and grow strong. And…”

Suddenly, the Moment was there. He wasn’t sure how he knew it was right, but there could not be a better time.

“And I want my child to survive.”

Garrosh shrugged. “Is there something wrong with your son?”

“Not my son. _Our_ child. The one I’m carrying.”

Garrosh froze. He became absolutely still, as a big hunting cat does when it sees prey, just before it springs. His eyes widened, then narrowed. “You are lying!”

“No, I’m not. You must have realised I didn’t undergo a Heat three months after our initial encounter.”

“You used those suppressants.” His voice was low, almost hoarse. “I thought you used the drugs.”

“No, they had stopped working. I had no Heat because pregnancy stops the Heat from happening.”

The chain hit the floor with a soft _clang_ as Garrosh unfolded himself from his throne. He stepped slowly forward, circling Varian, not touching him, hunched over, his nostrils flaring as he took in scent. “You…you carry my child…”

Ýes, as I..”

“And you didn’t tell me!” he roared, grabbing Varian by the throat and swinging him around. “You kept this from me!”

Varian grabbed the hands that were crushing his neck and tore them away. He choked, gasping for air, barely able to breath, and backed away. Garrosh stalked back and forth, hands clenched, muttering. He stopped finally and turned back to Varian, face flushed and damp. “How…long?”

He could have worked it out himself, Varian thought absently, but he was seeking some form of confirmation, facts to hang his understanding upon. Knowing the risk, knowing he had to take it anyway, Varian stepped forward inside his space, lifted one of Garrosh’s big hands, and placed it on his stomach. “She has been with me for over five months.”

Garrosh looked down at the hand. “She? It is a female?”

“Yes. A daughter.”

With a suddenness that almost made Varian fall, Garrosh pulled himself back, thrusting Varian aside. The Warchief stood for a few moments as if struggling with words that just wouldn’t form. Finally, he waved a hand and when he did speak his voice was dry and strange. “Go back to the room.”

He stalked away and out through the main door, leaving Varian standing alone in the middle of the room.

He was laying on a raised platform, his legs up and spread, his feet secured in stirrups, and the pain was terrible. It burned through him, hot and continual and he was naked and covered with sweat as his body writhed in torture.

There were healers around him, he knew that, but for all their efforts he was still agonized and exhausted. And when a final blast of fiery pain erupted, he screamed as his body convulsed. Blood fountained out, there was an intense pressure and he sagged back, the light fading as the healers took the child and held it up and…

It had two heads. One human. One orc. And both were screaming…

_No. No. _ **No. STOP……. . . .**

Varian woke abruptly as he forced himself out of the nightmare, the shout in the dream morphing into his voice choking out the word.

He turned awkwardly, feeling about for the water bottle he kept by his bedding. He found and uncorked it and took a long drink. His throat was clogged and he coughed, clearing away the flem and the taste of the fear that filled his mouth. It had been a dreadful dream, and not the first one he’d had over the previous weeks. They weren’t all the same – some featured things digging their way out of him, others he was being tortured, sometimes he was lost in some formless place he couldn’t find a way out of. Kordek gave him potions to try and sleep without dreams and they sometimes worked, but often not. He guessed his subconscious was trying to work its way through the tangle of his situation, and the fear regarding the child he bore. _A two-head child, two minds, two natures in the one body. Fairly obvious, I suppose._

“Varian, come here.”

He wasn’t chained that night, hadn’t been for some days because of his need to frequently attend to his bladder. They both knew he wouldn’t be going anywhere, not now that his belly was so large that he had trouble simply keeping his balance when he walked. He stood and shuffled across to the bed and Garrosh pulled the sleeping furs aside. “Get in.”

Varian climbed up and slid across the bed, hiding his surprise. Garrosh had never slept with him - he’d taken Varian on the bed but sent him to sleep on the floor pad when he’d finished. Still, it was a change that he preferred over the chilly discomfit of the floor, even if it meant being so close to the orc. But he still wanted to know…

“Why?” 

Garrosh snorted and settled down next to him. “You keep waking me up. I can shut you up if you closer, and I’ll get more rest.”

As a reason, it was weak – but whatever the truth, Varian found himself relaxing despite what would, only a few months ago, have seemed insanely improbable. _Sleeping, next to Garrosh Hellscream. My life, where improbability has become the norm._

Turning onto his side, Varian sighed at the warmth and comfort and was asleep in moments.

Garrosh woke to the sound of snoring. It was very close, and when he opened his eyes it was to see a sleeping human curled up against him under the furs. He lay still for some time watching his possession, his curse, his undeniable source of both pride and frustration, sleeping in his bed like a child.

Sometime during the night Varian had tossed off the larger fur, leaving one lying over his hips. His hair lay in a messy fall around his head and shoulders and Garrosh noted that he appeared to be growing a beard. That didn’t please him and he made a mental note to have a barber trim the man’s hair and get rid of the beard. 

His eyes were drawn to Varian’s stomach. The King’s right arm lay along his side, with the hand laying across the bulge. Garrosh lifted the hand carefully. It was small, smaller than his own large hand and he knew he could crush the bones in that hand as easily as he cracked a nutshell. But strength wasn’t simply a matter of physical power. He’d come to realise that. It was the fire in the gut and the determination of the spirit. It was what made Varian Wrynn the Prime Omega. A one-of-a-kind irreplaceable, unbreakable pain in the arse.

He settled the hand back along Varian’s side and slowly slid his hand over Varian’s stomach. It was the first time he’d done it. And he realised how close he was to this new life he’d bred. Such a small space, a little flesh and blood, lay between his hand and his child. 

His daughter. 

It would be so easy to grow maudlin and soft, to accept Varian more as a partner than a possession. Yet how weak would that make him look to the Horde, that a human could twist and manipulate him, that siring a child could somehow lessen what he was. He couldn’t allow it. He was Warchief of the Horde, Prime Alpha of Azeroth. To let himself weaken made him vulnerable. He couldn’t afford it.

Garrosh took his hand away and turned onto his back, pulling the fur up over his chest. He would take and keep and control. Everything else was irrelevant.

when Varian woke the next morning, Garrosh was gone. 

He lay for a while luxuriating in the warmth and comfort – it was a surprisingly snug bed. Built on a low wooden frame, the base was made of rope woven across from each side to form a support. A thick wool-filled mattress lay on top covered with cotton cloth sheeting, and the bedfurs were very well tanned, the undersides worked to a suede-like softness. He knew the Warchief insisted on the bed being refreshed regularly, and it smelled of lavender and lilac, treatments used to keep away fleas and other nasty bugs. 

Eventually his bladder demanded attention and he climbed out, pulled on his woollen dressing gown and shuffled to the privy. By the time he emerged he had company, a young troll wearing a leather apron and carrying a pack stood by the door. The troll bowed briefly. “Ah sir, the Warchief ordered me t’shave your beard and trim y’r hair. I’m Tebash, the barber.”

“Pleased to meet you, Tebash. You speak excellent Common.”

“Thank you, sir. I like learnin’ things and thought it’d be handy someday which it is, as you be seeing. Now,” he said, as he unpacked his bag, “if you could sit, I’ll get to work.”

As the barber was finishing up Garrosh entered, followed by one of his scribes. “…..and copy enough of the message to send out to all Horde bases, with copies to the Alliance.”

That brought Varian upright and focused. “What!”

Garrosh turned to him and smiled, a twisted smirk. “I am having it known that I’ve bred you, that you carry my get in your belly. The High King of the Alliance carrying my child. It’s a special moment, I’m sure you will agree, and deserves to be shared.”

Ice and fire flushed across his skin, raising hairs and making him shiver. Disgust and fury brought him to his feet. “You are a revolting bastard!”

Garrosh strode forward and grabbed Varian by his recently trimmed hair. “Do you think because of your condition I won’t punish you? Think again. I can see I’ve been too lenient with you.” He grabbed the chain, linked it to Varian's collar and dragged him across to the wall, securing in place. "You can stay here for the rest of the day, and you get no food."

Garrosh left without another word, leaving Varian alone, standing shaken and furious on the old bed pad. He had to sit, finally, and he sagged back against the wall. It had been many years since Varian Wrynn had last shed tears, but he came very close to it that day

He knew his time was drawing near from the way his body was changing. Not only was his stomach expanding but it was settling, as if the babe were moving into a launch position. His hunger had tapered off but he was drinking much more, pissing much more and his back ached constantly. And walking any distance was very difficult as his legs swelled. Kordek called the ‘pre-birth waddle’ which seemed apt.

He saw little of Garrosh during the weeks following his announcement. He didn’t seem concerned with being around Varian, which was fine with the King as he had no desire to see the Warchief. _Other than horizontal as a corpse,_ he thought sourly, as he sat in the Hold’s eating hall for lunch.

He wasn’t alone, of course. As well as his ever-present guards, there were the normal Hold inhabitants, the Warchief’s councilors and advisors, as well as a group of very curious Blood Elves. Other Horde leaders visited now and then, immensely curious or equally disgusted but wanting to view him, as if he were a tourist attraction. And he tried not to think of the anguished Anduin would be, and how the other racial leaders would have received the news. Badly, undoubtedly.

As the tables were cleared at the end of lunch, the room cleared except for Varian and his guards. As he settled back to the drink the last of his mint tea, he noticed two strangers entering through the main doorway. They were a Blood Elves – neither of whom he recognized – and they stopped just inside the door and looked about as if checking for someone. A moment later one of them coughed.

Two figures appeared suddenly behind the guards. They sliced the orcs’ throats with the silent precision of trained rogues and the guards hit the floor, dead moments later. As Varian struggled upright one of them lowered his mask and put a finger to his lips.

The rogue was human.

He stood frozen with shock as other figures appeared. A dozen of them, rogues and druids who’d been hidden from sight. Two of the druids stood watch at the door and the second Blood Elf ran up to Varian. “Father! It’s me, Anduin!”

If he was shocked before, he was horrified then. “What is this, you aren’t…”

“It’s an illusion spell. It really is me under this disguise.” Varian realized through the buzzing alarm that the voice was certainly his son’s.

“Anduin, how dare you risk your life in this way. What the hell do you think you’re doing. If the orcs catch you…”

“They won’t. These are Mathias Shaw’s best operatives, and none of us are leaving without you.”

His eyes told him a Sin’dorei stood in front of him but he knew it was Anduin in a way he didn’t bother to analyse. Varian reached forward and grabbed his son, pulling him into a hug. “You know I can’t.”

“Father, do you trust me?”

“Of course I do, but..”

“Then trust me now. Come with me, and I’ll explain everything. But we have to do NOW.”

“I gave him my word, son. I told him I’d not escape, or let myself be taken.”

The stranger’s face on his son’s body grew pained. “I’d never normally ask you to break your word, but your life depends on this. He has dishonoured you and isn’t deserving of your pledge.”

“Perhaps not, but my honour is my own, not his.”

Anduin straightened and signalled to the other Blood Elf. “Take this enchantment off me, Garius. If my father is staying, so am I.”

“NO! I forbid it!”

The charm faded and Varian saw his bright-eyed, worried son standing before him, dressed in dark cloth. “Then come with me. But I won’t leave without you.”

Varian knew his son was just stubborn enough to do it and he couldn’t risk that special life, even if it meant dishonour. “Very well, I’ll come. But you won’t be able to teleport out of here. The wards are too strong now.”

“I know. All we need do is get outside the main gate. Garius checked the wards, they’re sealed just on the outside of the walls. Can you walk that far?”

“I’d say not,” Varian said as he straightened and stepped forward. “But I’ll make it. Let’s get out of here.”

The mage reset Anduin’s appearance and performed a similar charm on Varian. He looked like an orc, and it was easy enough for Varian to bend over and shuffle like one. The rogues shoved the guards’ bodies into a nearby cupboard, cleaned up any sign of blood and, along with the druids, faded from view.

The walk to the gates was agonisingly slow, in all respects. Varian had to bite his lips to stop from gasping; the pain of his legs and back was grinding at him by the time was half way to the tunnel entry. He just shuffled along, bent over, ignoring everyone, listening for the sounds of shouts that his absence had been noticed or the bodies found. They passed from bright sunlight into shadow as the entered the tunnel; he had to stop partway to get his breath and ease a rapidly growing cramp. He started up again at last and then there was the opening, the gate, the outside guards, the road out across Durotar.

Anduin moved the party to an unoccupied hut beyond the wall and the mage immediately opened a portal. Moments later Varian stepped through it and into the mage tower in Stormwind.

Then he collapsed.

He woke in his own bed in the Keep, surrounded by healers, his son, the Prophet Valen, Tyrande and, at the back, Gen Greymane. Though Gilneas had not yet joined the Alliance, Gen had come to Stormwind to discuss that matter on previous occasions. So, he hadn’t yet become part of the Alliance, Varian saw, because he stood aside from those who were.

They were all pleased to see him though obviously uncertain of just how to take his condition. The Prophet, with his usual dignified calm, simply gave the unborn child the Light’s blessing and left Varian’s healing to others. Tyrande gave him a kiss on the forehead, whispering “I am pleased to see you home” before departing. That left just Anduin, two healers and Gen.

Anduin sat on the side of the bed while the healers performed a thorough inspection. The most senior, a priest from the Cathedral, nodded, content at last. “Your Majesty is tired and obviously under stress, but you appear otherwise well, given the circumstances. Though I should say I suspect you are days away from delivering the child.”

“I’d have thought minutes from the way I’m bulging at the seams. But thank you, Cleric Matthew. I hope I can rely on your assistance when the time comes.”

“Most certainly. I suspect a whole troop of healers of various types will be required. We will await your commands.” The priest smiled and, along with his companion, departed.

He looked across at Gen, puzzled. “Not that I’m not pleased to see you, Greymane, but why are you here?”

The older man stepped forward and smiled down at the High King. “Well, as to that, it might be a good idea to let the Prince explain first.”

He turned his attention to Anduin. “Very well, my son – explain. Because how my being here will help me ultimately, I do not understand. You know my problem.”

“Yes.” Anduin was surprisingly calm, he even smiled as he laid a hand over his father’s. “It’s occupied most of my thoughts for last few weeks. At first, like you, I couldn’t see any resolution. You needed Garrosh to survive, there seemed no way around that. And then when his announcement arrived…” Anduin’s expression darkened and it was a fair angrier look than normally seen on that fair face. “well, let’s just say it gave me added impetus. And then I heard from Gen, who has provided us with a potential life saver.”

Greymane made a low sound something like a snort. “I didn’t care for that orc’s behaviour, and the idea came to me that I might just be able to provide you with assistance. To at least partway pay back for the help you have given me and mine.” He moved to a side door and opened it, and gestured. “Let me introduce you to a friend from Gilneas. This is Charles Coldridge.”

A tall figure walked into the room, dressed in typical Gilnean style, all dark cloth and elegant neatness. He was perhaps a few years older than Varian and strikingly handsome.

And Varian sensed at once that he was an Alpha. More than that..

Varian surged upright, shocked. “You’re a Prime!”

The worgen smiled, flashing bright, sharp teeth. “Aye your Majesty. That I am.”

One thing Her Royal Highness the Princess Garrion Wrynn had inherited from her sire was his volume. When she wanted to be fed or changed or in any other way attended to, her voice carried like a kodo with a sore paw. Varian had been reading in his armchair by the fire when his daughter’s latest demands made themselves known. After ten minutes of undiminished screaming, he sighed, put down his book and went to investigate who was torturing his child – or more probably, who she was torturing.

Two nurses were doing their very best to calm her down. She lay in her cot, arms and legs waving and kicking, her face screwed up in fury. He lifted her out and held her against his chest, surprised as always by her size and weight. She’d grown faster than Anduin had at the same age but then she’d started out larger. He smiled at the nurses as he collected the bottle from the warmer. “It’s alright, I’ll feed her. You ladies take a break.”

The two women curtsied and left, looking relieved. Varian walked back into his room, sat in his armchair and let the baby rest on his lap. She looked up at his face, her blue eyes narrowed and belligerent. “You shouldn’t be mean to the ladies,” he said soothingly as he tested the milk on his hand. “They’re trying their best. Now be quiet and drink so we can all get some sleep.”

He watched her shift her attention to the bottle, grabbing hold of it with considerable strength. As always, he couldn’t help being fascinated by her. Her parentage was obvious, after all. 

Her face was very human and very ‘him’, right down to the firm chin and blue eyes. Her head already bore a thatch of dark hair and her skin was a rich reddish-brown, slightly lighter than Garrosh’s. Her body was stocky and strong and although she had no teeth yet, the healers considered it very likely that tusks would appear during teething. And her ears had a pointed shape while her blue eyes were slightly tilted. It was an exotic set of features that he’d come to find uniquely attractive.

The baby continued to mutter and complain even while being fed. “You know, you should be grateful. You have no idea the misery you put me through, especially the last part. You,” he said softly, stroking a finger over her stomach, “were a real trial.” She gurgled as his finger stroked a sensitive spot, then settled down to drinking.

Almost three months on and he could still feel the aftermath of that terrible ordeal. The torn and pulled muscles had been treated by healers many times but they still ached, as did his lower back. His body had been subjected to pressures it had never been designed for, even as a Frutal Omega. Nature had intended he would mate with a human, not an orc and though it had done its best to keep both him and his child alive, it had still been a close thing. He doubted anyone without his innate resilience and strength would have survived.

_It’s almost as if I was made to live through it…_ He shook his head, refusing the idea. He’d given the Warchief all he was prepared to give, he wouldn’t go any further towards conciliation. Even the naming of her had caused a stir among his family and court. But she was innocent of her sire’s actions and deserved to bear some link to her parentage – her _complete_ parentage. 

She had a good appetite and emptied the bottle in short order, then graciously allowed herself to be burped and put back down to sleep it off. Varian kissed her warm cheeks and wrapped her up before heading back to his chair. He was about to resume his reading when there was a knock at the door. He glanced up to see Charles Coldridge standing there, one elegantly gloved hand resting on the doorframe.

“Sir, I hope I’m not disturbing you…”

Varian couldn’t help grinning. Charles might almost be considered foppish if one went on appearances alone. He was always beautifully attired and, despite being a warrior like Varian, and preferred to dress in cloth and leather when not engaged in combat. His rich chestnut hair curled about his face and hung over his broad shoulders, glowing with golden tones in the candlelight. And despite his calm, easy manner there was that sense of anticipation that Varian recognised all too well. It was the look and feel of an Alpha in the presence of an Omega on the verge of Heat.

“No, of course not. Come on in. Would you like a game of chess?” He was being deliberately baiting, of course. There was really only one thing Charles wanted at that moment, and it wasn’t to play a board game. Varian stood and crossed to the door – Charles entered and stepped aside as the King closed the door behind him. They were very close at that moment and the Gilnean’s nostrils flared as he caught Varian’s scent. He began leaning closer then pulled back abruptly.

“I’m sorry, your Majesty…perhaps I should leave…”

Varian laughed out loud as he walked back to his chair. “Charles, you need to relax. And stop using my title. If we are to be intimate, I think we can go with first names.”

It was an odd situation, to be sure, and Varian was very much aware of it. At such a time the Alpha was usually assertive due to an Omega’s natural need for dominance. Yet this particular Omega was a King, and a very strong man. Charles had never met an Omega anything like Varian and he was obviously uncertain about how to approach him. _One thing about Garrosh,_ Varian thought as he slid his dressing gown off and laid it over the back of the chair, _he had absolutely no doubts. He was Alpha Prime and had zero hesitation about approaching me…_

_And why am I thinking of that damned orc…_ He turned, casually naked, and moved across to the stunned Alpha. Varian put one hand on the man’s chest, surrounding him with his aura. “Is there a problem, Charles?”

The Alpha’s craving flared, activating Varian’s Heat. With a speed that fascinated Varian, Charles had divested himself of his clothing and was pushing Varian backwards into the bedroom. All hesitation was gone, it was purely instinct from then on. Once he’d triggered Varian’s Heat, the Alpha’s need was for sex and that need overcame rational thought. Charles murmured his pleasure at the rise of the musky scent from Varian’s body, the carnal flush of his body drawing the Alpha in. As he pushed Varian back onto the bed, fingers stroking the slick muscle ring of his arse, his breath whispered over Varian’s ear. “I’ll make you forget him. All you’ll ever need or want is me…”

And even as pleasure swept through him, making him moan and shudder at the release, Varian wasn’t so sure of that. For all that it was good, that it saved him and kept him sane…it didn’t match the animalistic, explosive, pain-driven pleasure that Garrosh had given him. And even as he lay in his lover’s arms at the end of it, that knowledge kept him awake far into the night.


End file.
